A Working Relationship
by Jessahme Wren
Summary: Early Lizzington AU. A harried Liz, a lustful Red, one fedora and plenty of UST. A response to a prompt on Tumblr.


Summary: Red makes Liz's bad day worse, then better.

A/N: This is in response to a Lizzington challenge on Tumblr, "Liz wears Red's fedora." This is early in their partnership and it is AU, so no counting on your fingers trying to place the ep. It's a oneshot for now, but I'd love to revisit them at this stage in the future. I hope you enjoy, and as always, I would love to know what you think! :)

-0-0-0-

Tom had the car, so she took the bus to work. The traffic was well into the workday grind, and the street buzzed with horns and idling engines as Liz stepped into the stinking exhaust of the public transit bus snugged against the curb, pushing through the crowd to reach the door before the inert giant shuttered to life and pulled away without her.

She stuck her hand out just as the two doors began to close on themselves, her palm flat against the glass. Liz looked past her hand and into the scowling face of the woman behind the wheel, silently pleading for mercy. To her surprise, the woman relented and Liz was soon seated on one of the stiff seats of the Metro, watching the screen with the destinations listed scroll past in a mind-numbing loop. It was 8:15 a.m. and the third day she'd been late this week.

Liz swallowed hard, thinking of the vein in Cooper's forehead that would throb in time with his harsh words. He could barely tolerate her, she knew. The only reason she was even allowed near the Post Office was because of Raymond Reddington.

She sat on the cold seat of the bus, her body gently rocking as the bus hissed and stuttered along its route at an excruciatingly slow pace. She looked out the window and sighed.

Raymond Reddington. One of the FBI's Most Wanted. Fugitive from justice. Criminal. Traitor. Friend.

Yes, she could consider him a friend now. A friend and a partner. In just a few months, they'd established what she considered a healthy working relationship.

She thought of their work together. It was the thing she was most proud of, though she would never admit it to him. Together they had already captured six of the most heinous criminals in the world, criminals the FBI would've never known about had it not been for Red. A whisper of a smile ghosted her lips. Though they'd only worked together a few months, she trusted him with her life.

But there was so much she didn't know about him. His background. His intentions at the FBI. How he knew so much about her, and why he wouldn't tell her how.

And why he looked at her the way he did.

She'd noticed it, of course. It didn't take a profiler to recognize the attention he paid her, those lingering stares. She was a woman, after all; she knew when a man looked at her in _that way_. She just didn't understand why.

Liz caught her reflection in the dirty glass and frowned. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and she had dark circles under her eyes. She uselessly fussed with the unkempt strands, trying to tuck them under the scant few bobby pins in back. When she took her hand away they slipped out again, falling around her shoulders and into her eyes in uneven tendrils. She puffed one away with an upward breath, only to have it fall again and stubbornly resume its previous position.

She muttered a curse and leaned her head against the cool window and closed her eyes, silently willing the bus to move faster.

-0-0-0-

Liz entered the first security checkpoint at the Post Office an hour late, under-caffeinated and thoroughly pissed off. More than that, though, she was embarrassed. Embarrassed by her seeming inability to multitask, to juggle a marriage and a job. Other women made it look so easy.

She slapped the call button of the elevator emphatically and looked up to wait for the numbers to change. These first few months were a proving ground; she realized that. Everyone was watching her, including Red. Liz knew that her persistent inability to balance her personal and professional life would only bode badly for her in the long run.

She waited a few more moments for the elevator, but it never came. She grumbled her frustrations to its silent doors and looked at her watch. With a defeated sigh, she ducked into the stairwell.

It was only four flights, but she was already breathless from nerves and her legs were lead weights. Quantico wasn't that long ago, she thought bewilderedly, but she'd run every day then and for miles at a time. As she landed on the last step, she made a mental note to put step cardio into her workout regiment.

She steeled herself before exiting the stairwell, her hand against the cool handle and her eyes closed. She took a quick cleansing breath and slowly pushed open the heavy metal door.

She would go straight to Cooper, she decided. Best to get it over with. Wait any longer and he would realize she was trying to avoid him. It would only make things worse.

Liz walked calmly and purposefully to Cooper's office, ignoring the spiteful, appraising stares from some of the desk jockeys in the War Room. She straightened her back and smoothed the sides of her overcoat nervously.

The blinds in the windows of Cooper's office were closed, and as she got closer she could hear low voices. Before she could talk herself out of it, she held her breath and rapped on the door quietly.

For a few agonizing seconds she waited. Finally she heard soft steps on the carpet, then the door groaned as it gave way under an able hand. It slowly swung open and she looked up, bracing herself for the inevitable.

Instead of an angry Cooper, she found Red. He was wearing one of his sharp blue suits and matching fedora. He had on a pinstriped shirt and a navy blue tie with flecks of gold in the pattern. The color complimented his eyes.

"Lizzie!"

He smiled generously and grabbed her arm, leading her enthusiastically into the inner sanctum of Cooper's office before she could wipe the surprise from her face. She found herself in the middle of that uncomfortable room with Red at her side.

"Assistant Director Cooper I-"

Red moved his hand from her arm and placed it gently on her shoulder, giving it a little pat. He looked at her fondly.

"I'm so sorry I asked you to take care of that for me, Lizzie, and I feel I was a bit inappropriate in doing so, but I do appreciate it."

He gave her a little twitch of a smile and his eyes danced.

Her mouth snapped shut, realizing what Red was up to, and she nodded curtly. "Not a problem," she said numbly, playing along. She wasn't quite sure what she was happy to have done for him, but it was preventing Cooper from yelling at her at the moment, so she really didn't care.

Red looked at her endearingly. "I was just explaining to dear Harold here that as soon as you arrived from your little errand, that we would have to be going. There's new evidence in the Hinson case and I'm afraid it's quite time sensitive."

Liz looked at Harold and saw the familiar vein in his head throb. He looked at her disapprovingly.

"Agent Keen, if you are going to continue working at the level of clearance you have now, you're going to have to start prioritizing-"

Red tsked quietly. "Now, now Harold, the time for lectures is passed. If you want to be mad with anyone, be mad at me." He looked at him pointedly, leveling his eyes.

"Besides," he said, brightening, "Lizzie's security clearance isn't nearly high enough." He looked into her eyes and then down to her mouth, smiling softly.

"Why don't you look into that, Harold? Why don't you bump up Liz's security clearance and I promise not to let her go on any more personal errands." He had an easy smile, and Liz wondered briefly if there wasn't an audience he couldn't work.

He turned from her and looked into the stormy face of Harold Cooper. When Cooper said nothing, Red smiled. He turned to Liz and lightly touched her back. He gave her a gentle nudge, leading her away from the sour face of Harold Cooper and into the warmth and security of the hall.

The door clicked shut behind them, and she sighed in relief. Almost simultaneously, she jerked away from Red and looked at him coolly.

"I can fight my own battles Red. I don't need your help."

He looked at her a few long moments, a mixture of amusement and concern playing on his face as he noted her bedraggled appearance.

"Lizzie, you look like hell."

She narrowed her eyes but said nothing. From a muscle in her jaw he could tell his words had stung her somewhat, and he instantly regretted them.

Liz put her head back and looked at him. It was one of his little games, she thought. He liked to provoke a response from her whenever he could. Any kind of response. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

She pushed past him roughly on her way to her office. He watched her stalk away, the loose sections of unruly hair bouncing gently around her face.

While he did not follow immediately, she knew he would eventually. She closed the office door with a satisfying click and leaned against its cool frame.

She intended to enjoy these few moments of sanctuary her little office provided, free of distraction or noise and, through the magic of procrastination, immediate responsibility. She sat down at her computer and began sifting through e-mails without turning on the lights.

A half hour later, a quiet knock came at the door. She had been expecting it; in fact, she was surprised he'd stayed away this long. She sighed and rubbed her hand over her hair as much in resignation as in a futile attempt to tame it.

"Come in," she said quietly.

The door eased open and Red peeked into the dim room as if she hadn't already welcomed him, his upper body across the threshold but that was all. He found her eyes, his hand on the light switch, and silently asked permission.

She nodded tersely, still looking at the computer screen. He flipped on the lights, illuminating the office in a harsh fluorescent glow and she blinked at it spitefully. If she'd looked like hell in the corridor, she must look positively dreadful in here, she thought.

He settled in the chair in front of her and placed a small white bag on the desk between them. He had a to-go cup of coffee in his hand.

She looked at the little bag curiously, then at the tall cup. Even through the lid, it smelled heavenly. She glanced at his face, then back to the computer screen.

"I never took you for a coffee drinker Red," she said tensely. "What gives."

He favored her with a small smile. "I'm more of a tea man myself," he said good-naturedly. "But I can appreciate anything done well."

She looked up at him then, into his eyes, and he was giving her one of _those looks_, the ones designed to go straight to her belly and start a chain reaction of heat and sparks through every nerve ending. So far, it was doing everything it was designed to do.

She swallowed and watched him stretch out his arm, placing the coffee beside the white bag on her desk.

"This is for you," he said quietly. "A peace offering of sorts." He swallowed and his eyes softened. "I'm sorry for earlier."

She looked at the small bag, and then up at him. He was looking at her tenderly, his head angled slightly.

Her mouth melted into an almost-smile, and then she pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes and trying to look through the bag without opening it. She looked up at him skeptically.

"What is it?"

He encouraged her with a little move of his hand. "Why don't you see for yourself," he prompted gently.

She looked at it another moment with some measure of longing, then turned back to the computer screen. Her fingers typed a few words on the keyboard, a useless distraction, stubbornly ignoring him.

"I'm not really hungry Red."

A quiet fell between them. He chewed the inside of his jaw while looking at her, his face unreadable. He watched her type absently for a few more seconds before he reached for the little bag.

"I was afraid of this," he said seriously.

She turned to look at him, to watch his smooth, dark hands unfold the careful crease at the top of the bag and withdraw its contents. He procured a stack of napkins and laid them out first, then two hearty-looking muffins quickly followed. He began systematically clearing her desk.

Liz looked at him, mild panic on her face as he rearranged her belongings.

"Red, don't do that! I have work to do. Red, please." She stood as if to thwart his movements, but only looked at him, her hands on her hips. Her eyes were pleading.

"I'll eat your muffins, Red," she finally said desperately. "Just stop, ok?"

He did stop, but only because his task was complete. She watched as he unfolded one of the thick white napkins, opening it to its full width and spreading it between them like a tiny table cloth. He placed a muffin onto the napkin in front of either of them, and he took the coffee from the edge of the desk and held it out to her.

He caught her gaze, seeking her eyes around what wasn't obstructed by her unruly hair. "I'm sorry," he said genuinely.

She saw the sincerity there and it convicted her. She sighed, defeated, and stretched out her hand to take it from him. Her fingers brushed his where they held the cup, and she noted their cool smoothness. The contact sent a sizzle of sensation up her forearm, causing her heart to flip.

She held the cup below her face, sniffing the ribbon of steam that escaped from the small opening in the lid, her eyes closed. Red watched her do this with interest. He had quickly learned soon after meeting her that Elizabeth Keen was sensory-oriented, something he'd filed away for future use.

Liz popped the lid off and held the cup near her face. She let the steam envelope her, and she noted the rich aroma. She gave it an experimental sip.

"Mmm." She hummed in appreciation, and her eyes fluttered closed. Red watched her, his gaze unflinching. Liz replaced the lid and set it down between them.

"What is that? That's delicious."

"It's a custom blend of several different beans," he said casually. "I'm glad you like it."

She nodded and took it up again. "It's the best thing about this God-awful morning," she said. She leaned forward to examine her muffin, but more loose hair fell in her face.

"Shit," she muttered. She ran her hands back over it, trying to smooth it into place. She'd lost more bobby pins on the bus, apparently, because now there seemed to be only two fighting to keep the tangled mess straight. She had skipped a wash, so she was self-conscious about leaving it down and she had no ponytail holder.

She held one bobby pin in her teeth while both hands worked at her hair. She was leaning forward slightly and she didn't see him rise.

She sensed him behind her seconds before his hands covered hers, and the bobby pin fell from her mouth. She could feel the solid presence of his body standing behind her where she sat, and her body responded to the proximity by instinctively straightening against him.

"Red, don't," she said quietly. She tried to pull his away, but he gave her hands a little squeeze and, almost of their own volition, hers floated to her lap.

She blew out a ragged breath, nerves and desire wreaking havoc as he touched her in the most intimate of ways. He had already found the other pin and had twisted her hair into a hasty chignon, letting his fingers dip below her hairline to smooth the loose wisps at her neck. He coaxed them in line with the others, and she drew her lip between her teeth, thanking God or anyone who would listen that he couldn't see her face.

The bulk of the task finished, his hands reached forward, past her face, and gingerly gathered the shorter lengths that hung in front. He smoothed both hands along the side of her face, and she had to remind herself to breathe. He'd taken care of the loose strands that had so vexed her, but there were no more pins, so when he smoothed them back over her crown they would just fall into her face again.

But they never fell. One hand held the loose strands, and then suddenly withdrew as she felt the soft weight of the fedora settle on her head.

He turned her face up to his and gave the hat a small adjustment. His eyes glinted and there was an inscrutable expression on his face. She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"There," he said softly. He smiled at her like an artist would at a sunset. "Absolutely beautiful."

She realized her mouth was open, and she quickly snapped it shut. The hat felt good and it fit her head perfectly. More than that, it smelled like him, masculine and warm. She wanted to run her fingers over the brim, but she was too embarrassed.

She blinked at him, looking up through her thick lashes. He wanted very badly to kiss her, to take that cherubic face and crush it to his own. He licked his lips.

"Thanks," she said a little breathlessly. She averted her eyes, the heat and intensity of his gaze humming in the air between them. "That's much better."

He moved to settle opposite her again, and she watched as he picked up his muffin and held it out in front of him, inspecting it casually as if nothing unusual had happened.

Her head was still spinning, and she watched his mouth as it sank into the soft breakfast treat with relish.

"What kinds of muffins are these," she said numbly. Her voice sounded foreign and she cleared her throat.

"Zucchini," he said simply. He was still chewing. Beneath the brim of his fedora, he saw her frown.

"It's good to try new things, Lizzie. Go ahead," he said encouragingly. "I bet you'll like it."

It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw him wink.

Liz picked it up and took a small bite. It was moist, sweet, and had a hint of nut and spice. It reminded her of carrot cake.

She nodded appreciatively. "That _is _good," she said, a little surprised. She finished chewing, then followed her bite with a sip of that delicious coffee.

They finished their breakfast, speaking quietly of their current case and of the growing practices of coffee plantations in Central America. Red ate only half of his muffin, but she finished all of hers. She still wore his hat.

She suddenly looked at the clock on the wall and nearly an hour had passed. She sighed.

"Red, I have to get back to work. I have a report to write for Cooper that's due in an hour and I haven't even started it."

He looked at her softly but did not smile. She stood, crossing past him to the door, intending to see him out. She put her hand on the knob and turned back to look at him.

"Thank you, though. This was nice." She gave him a bemused little smile. "I've never had breakfast in my office before."

The shy smile lighting her face cut him in two. He reached up to tip the fedora further back on her head, needing to touch her. It was a little loose and struggled to sit properly.

He put his hand behind her against the door, settling his weight there, and she saw his face change. She took an instinctive step backward only to find the door solid at her back. She swallowed.

"Have you ever kissed anyone in your office, Lizzie?"

She had nowhere to look but into his face, and it hovered close to hers. His eyes were dark and focused solely on her.

"What are you doing, Red."

He reached up and held her face, and she became motionless under his touch. He let his thumb sweep over her lips, brushing away a crumb.

"I'm asking you a question," he said gently. "Have you ever kissed anyone in this office?"

Her breathing became quick, and Red could see the pulse in her neck beating double time. He leaned in, catching his own scent in her hair from the hat she wore.

"No," she breathed. She looked up at him, her gaze unsteady. When she saw the desire in his eyes, her throat constricted.

"I'm married, Red."

He pursed his lips, turning his head slightly. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, and the hand at her face slid around to the back of her neck, his fingers splayed under the pretty chignon, the work of his own hands.

"You're attracted to me," he said quietly. Red's voice rumbled like quiet thunder, touching every part of her. His fingers flexed at her neck, and her mouth opened slightly.

"And I'm certainly attracted to you," he said. "Surely you must have seen it before now." He smiled mischievously and inched ever closer, his voice dipping into his lower register. "I'm failing to see the problem here."

She was breathing heavily now, and she tried to look away from him. "I can't," she said. She shut her eyes tight.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him, and her eyes grew wide.

"What can't you do Sweetheart?" His voice was a whisper now, sharp-edged velvet skating across her skin, soothing and dangerous. "Because I can't leave here without knowing how you taste, Lizzie."

His eyes searched her face, and he took his hand from the door behind her and placed it gently on the crest of her jaw. He leaned in, stopping inches from her mouth.

"Tell me to stop," he said.

She couldn't. The truth was, she had fantasized about how his lips would feel pressed against hers, his tongue moving, hot and slow inside her mouth.

She said nothing. She licked her lips, and he could feel her tremble lightly under his hands.

God, he wanted her. He wanted her around him, on top of him, perched like a queen on his cock and wearing his favorite hat. But this would have to do.

He looked into her lovely eyes before drawing her face to his.

He kissed her, letting his tongue smooth at the silken skin above her lip before entering her mouth. The fedora sat lower on her head than on his, and he bumped it with his forehead, pushing it back. Kissing Lizzie while she wore his hat was somehow even more erotic than he had imagined it would be, and he had imagined quite a lot.

She moaned into his mouth, and a hand went out beside her, feeling for the blinds on the windows of her office. She twisted them closed with the little stick and returned her hand to run along the strong line of his shoulders, giving the muscles there a little squeeze. He made a soft clucking sound in the back of his throat that she assumed was a laugh.

He took his time with her, her mouth luscious and warm; he could taste the coffee on the back of her tongue.

She had her hands on the back of his head and her breath was coming in ragged puffs through her nose, tickling his freshly shaven skin. He put an arm around her lower back, drawing her closer, and she could feel him hard against her.

She gasped at the contact, and she could feel his smile. When he withdrew, his eyes were dark and they danced with a wicked gleam.

He lowered his mouth to her ear, his nose nudging the edge of the fedora before dipping low to whisper in her ear.

"Elizabeth," he breathed. It sent a shock of desire coursing through her body, both weakening and empowering her. She smoothed a hand up his chest and rested her face against his, holding on for dear life.

"What will you do to me Lizzie," he said, shaking his head softly. He chuckled at the thought and began nipping at her neck, working his way into the open collar of her shirt to her collar bone.

She was embarrassingly close to losing control and all she'd done was kiss him. She worried her bottom lip as he worked on her neck, her nipples tight against her shirt. He must feel that, she thought wildly, because she certainly did. Liz smoothed the soft skin at his neck and pressed into him with a deep sigh.

His head crested her vision, his eyes narrow. "Careful," he said lowly. "Don't start something you're unwilling to finish."

His words hit her squarely, but she said nothing. The dark glint in his eye sent heat to her core, fueling the steady ache there.

He suddenly stopped, glancing at the clock on the wall and then back at her. He cocked his head slightly, noting her current state of undress. Her eyes were dark and her cheeks had lost their pallor. Her lips were slightly parted, ready for another kiss. He smiled.

"I better leave you," he said quietly. "You've got that report to write, after all."

He straightened his tie dramatically, then smoothly flipped the fedora from her head and onto his own. He seated it with a single trip of his fingers along the brim, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You might want to leave that last part of the morning out," he said, and smiled devilishly at her before opening the door and stepping through it. Once on the other side he stopped, one hand on the door knob, and looked over his shoulder at her. His eyes slipped down to her mouth. "I'll be in touch about that Hinson file," he said simply.

With that, he was gone.

She was still breathing hard when the last of his footfalls retreated around the corner and disappeared.

She remembered his words from earlier and tucked the newly freed strands of hair behind her ear, working to steady her nerves.

_What have you done to me, Raymond Reddington,_ she thought wildly. _What have you done? _

She put her hand over her mouth to cover a smile.

-0-0-0-

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